Chapter Nineteen
Rafe
I haven’t seen Sparrow for four days. I would say it’s because I’m too busy writing and getting ready for another show, but that’s not entirely true. I’ve written, sure, but I’ve also been as distracted as I ever remember being. I joined the gym in town just to try to wear myself out and lift really heavy things without people wondering what was wrong with me. It was horrible. So now I’m sore and can’t bend my legs too much. But the worst pain is the one that’s pulsing near my lungs. She went out with Jacques.
My phone rings. I think it could be her but deflate as soon as I see it’s my dad. I know he’ll keep calling if I don’t answer, so I accept. He wants something.
“Son,” he says. “Another article came out here about your band. Talks about trouble in our family. Your mother and I need you to meet us in London. The family needs to be seen together for a photo op.”
I clench my jaw so tight something pops near my right ear. “Ow,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” He wouldn’t care anyway. “And my answer is no.”
“You need to be there,” is the response. There must be people around for him to speak so vaguely.
“Can’t do that.” I don’t even apologize.
“Is this because of one of your shows?” he seethes. I hear the meanness breaking through his civility. It’s only a matter of time before he’ll completely crack.
“Listen, I’m going to let you go. Thanks for checking in. Hope all is well. Do tell Mother I said hello.” And with that, I hang up.
I put my head in my hands and wait for the text I know is coming. My phone pings, and I turn over to check ... because I still can’t seem to fully separate myself from my parents—no matter how hard I’ve tried.
Dad: I’ll send you your flight information.
My thumbs type furiously.
Rafe: Don’t waste your airline miles. Can’t be there. Wear your blue suit. Looks better in photos.
I shouldn’t have added the last line to twist the knife, but I’m so sick of feeling like a pawn in my father’s dreams. And I won’t let them keep overtaking my own.
The image of Sparrow getting out of the car with Jacques still has me in knots, but I did this to myself. It’s what she said she wanted. All I wanted was to see her happy and to show her that I’ll get out of the way if it means she gets to live her own dreams. And it feels ridiculous to think I could try to make this situation go in any other direction.
Graham and I had a solid heart-to-heart last night, and he told me I have to remember that I’m leaving. I am leaving, right? I’ve never considered trying to pursue music outside of a major city. And while I haven’t had it in me to return to Paris yet, and living in LA felt like a piece of my soul was sinking bit by bit, it has always been my plan to return when I found the courage. Except, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. Home suddenly feels like weird, small-town activities and the river that changes color depending on the weather. It feels like the tiny studio in the music shop on Main Street, where Liam has a cup of coffee waiting for me when I arrive. It feels like Lily giving me slightly hostile advice and Graham answering every time I call. It feels like a box of croissants and eating pizza in a studio. It feels like a woman slow dancing in my arms.
I stare at myself in the mirror. I’m wearing a crisp white dress shirt with my solid black tie. A suit jacket hangs from one arm. This is what came to mind when Lily advised me to make a grand gesture, not because I think it could sway her but simply because I’ll do anything for her to smile like she means it. I’ve gelled my hair in a classic Hollywood way and parted it to one side. I’m clean-shaven tonight. I’ve even got the shoes right—the Oxford ones—to look like I just stepped out of a 1950s film. I’m dressed as Seb from La La Land because I think Sparrow will like it. While Graham asked me if I was auditioning to be a Frank Sinatra impersonator, I know she’ll get the reference immediately.
Iam trying to be charming, and I don’t think I’ve ever tried to be charming—not intentionally, anyway. So I’m not sure what to do with this new part of my personality, but it’s too late to back out now. I promised Graham I would show up to this little town Halloween Happy Hour thing, and so I will.
∞∞∞
Standing near the gazebo in the town square near Main Street (yes, this is real life and not a movie set), I take in the little kids walking around with their parents. It’s all smiles and oversized costumes. It’s attempts at being fictional characters and sticky hands from candy already being snuck from their orange plastic pumpkins. It’s the way the masks don’t quite fit where their tiny eyes should be looking out. The effect is ... adorable.
I clear my throat. I’ll try to say it’s from the cold, but this town is getting to me, as is the sight of parents holding hands with their little ones. A thought of Sparrow as a little girl, holding her parents’ hands and asking for candy, hits me so strongly. The people she held on to are gone now. And I wonder if she wants to have a family and take them trick-or-treating too.
This must be a great town to grow up in. While I was falling asleep under tables at fashion events that lasted until 2:00 a.m. and sneaking hors d’oeuvres as my dinner, she was waking up to the smell of croissants and sprinkling sugar on chouquettes. While I was begging my parents to come see me at a show or a game, she was a comfort to her father in their grief. And while I was running as far away from Paris as possible, she’s been dreaming of booking a ticket since she knew that she could.
We’re from different worlds, and yet I think we could balance each other out. Be the one the other needs. When my eyes catch on a bright-yellow dress, I know I’m right. It’s got capped sleeves, cinches at the waist, and flares out. It’s vintage. It’s Sparrow, and also, it’s Mia from La La Land . We look like we’ve each tried to recreate the movie poster with our costumes. She sees me and stills, a sweater thrown over her arm. I thought it would be okay to see her, but my heart is screaming at me for being this close to her. It’s both a comfort after days without her and a new level of pain.
I scuff my shoes on the concrete beneath them, not willing to break eye contact. She takes a deep breath, and I don’t miss the way her mouth slightly turns up, and she shrugs as if to say, Of course we did . While I was secretly getting ready for my role tonight to make Sparrow smile, she was doing the same for me.
I try to avoid getting in the way of tiny princesses and cowboys as we meet in the middle of the street. It’s closed off for the event, and it’s far too crowded on the sidewalk. As we get closer to each other, I take in her hair, which she has perfectly styled in a vintage way. I note her bold lipstick and the fact that she’s also wearing Oxford shoes. I want to hug her and tell her how much I love how the lights are casting a glow around her that I’ll never forget. Even if I had my camera, I don’t think I’d try to get a picture since I know you can’t always catch magic with a lens.
We stare at each other for a moment when a flash goes off to my right. Startled out of our focus, I turn to see Lily with a smug look on her face. Looks like we got a picture of tonight after all. And now all I’m thinking about is how to convince Lily to let me see it. Although, it may not be the same as I remember it, I want something to confirm that Sparrow might have been looking at me the way I thought she was. I remember Jacques and wonder if he’s around here somewhere. I give a quick glance around but don’t see him in the crowd.
A little girl in a princess costume has distracted Sparrow enough that she’s eye level with the little one and helping to arrange a barrette. She knows everyone in this town. Every time I’ve been with her, it’s like we’re walking on the streets of a theme park, and I’m just waiting for someone to stop us to get their picture with her. I hope this is always how it is. I pull my eyes away from her long enough to get another look at our surroundings and any Frenchmen in sight when I feel Lily tug on my suit jacket.
“He’s not here,” Lily whispers to me.
“Hmm?” I manage.
“Your nemesis. He isn’t here.”
I’m cut off from asking more when Sparrow stands up, a bright smile on her face. The little girl has run off while a small snowman waddles, more than runs, behind her. He falls and can’t get up immediately. A man, who I assume is his father, bends down and scoops him up over his shoulder, the orange foam carrot of a nose bouncing in the night air. I chuckle a bit.
“That kid’s gonna need therapy,” Lily says, a serious look on her face. I can’t disagree, but it’s cute at the moment.
“So, Lily, to what do we owe this pleasure?” I tease and motion away from the town. “I’m surprised you’re not out there trying to get your fill of frightening things.”
She swats at me. “Who needs to visit a haunted house? Just go on a dating app.”
“Truer words may never have been spoken.” I laugh as Lily gives a slight bow. And then I’m laughing again as Sparrow looks between us, a hesitant smile on her face. Appreciation seems to pass over her face as she looks between us, but it’s gone before I can hold on to it.
“I’m here to watch the insanity that is this town’s events,” Lily counters.
“You love it,” Sparrow suggests. “You’ve never missed one. Not even when you had pneumonia in fourth grade.”
“This town needs me,” is Lily’s response. I also can’t disagree with that. Whereas Sparrow is the heart of this town, Lily is the feistiness, its keeper of levity. I’m sure her personality is to disarm people, but it sure as heck is amusing.
“Well, Graham’s going to be missing this one. He texted me a few minutes ago saying that he got caught up at work, and it’s a code red.” I slide my phone back into my pocket.
I swear I hear Lily mutter something like, “I’m sure it is,” before she changes the subject entirely by saying, “Let’s get a drink.”
We nod in agreement, and the three of us walk toward Aesop’s Tavern. When we arrive, I hold the door as the ladies walk through. I’m not doing very well at ignoring Sparrow’s legs showing from underneath her dress or ignoring the way she smells more of caramelized sugar than usual ... actually, there’s a new smell. Could it be marshmallow?
Clark at the bar gives a wave, and we head to a high-top table in the corner. Although the place is completely full, there’s a little reserved sign on it, and I grin. This is because Sparrow is here. Apparently, Clark was a good friend of her father’s, and when she wants to go out, she just tells him, and he reserves a space.
“So, Lily, do you enjoy Halloween?” I’m trying to bring her into the conversation. One, because I like her as a person and want to stay on her good side. Two, because she’s still the best friend of the woman who has completely overtaken my life. And three, because I don’t have strength yet to talk to Sparrow without asking questions about Jacques. And I don’t know if I want to know those answers. So avoidance is fine for now.
Sparrow’s amusement is enough to distract me, though. She’s biting on the edge of her lip. She ordered a margarita with salt, and I’m just realizing that there must be a piece of salt stuck to her skin from the way she’s shifting her mouth as if she wants every last bit of salt but is also savoring it. And I wonder if a salty version of her lips would be better than sweet. My face starts to heat, and my heart pumps harder. I clear my throat because there’s absolutely zero chill with me when it comes to this woman.
I move to take a sip of my hard cider and nearly knock it over. A few drops hit the table, and Lily’s eyes give me a strong sense that she knows exactly what I was thinking, and I need to BE COOL. But I can’t. Take me to Paris and put me in LA, and I’ll have people thinking that I’m suave. Under control. Unattached (words from the press, not myself). And then stick me in front of Sparrow, and I can’t seem to get it together. She unravels me, and I ... love it.
Sparrow wipes the remaining droplets off the table with a napkin as she looks at me with a grin so casual it’s as if my insides aren’t falling apart from having her near. I shift in my seat, my knee lightly brushing hers, and it’s pure fire. I catch Lily leaning back in her chair and making a sign with her finger and her throat like I need to kill whatever vibes I’m putting off right now. She’s not wrong. I look about the space and see it: an old piano in the corner.
I leap from the table and give a weird nod before heading to the bar to find Clark. After asking him if I could please play out my feelings (really, I just ask if he minds me playing the piano), he heartily agrees. So now I’m sitting on the warped wooden bench that creaks beneath my weight, and I feel good. This is good. This is a piece of what will ground me in any situation.
Without looking at Sparrow, I allow my energy to go into the keys. I play until I feel sweat through my undershirt and at the sides of my hair. I’m playing out every single feeling that I’ve been feeling since I arrived, which is ... a lot. It’s Halloween, and I feel the whisper of the ghost that I let near my life. The one who crushed my creativity. I was hollow for so long, and now I’m starting to come back to life. But just as when a limb starts to awaken after falling asleep, the pain is hitting every nerve ending. And all I can do is play it out.
So, I don’t notice the way the bar goes silent. Or the way that people lean in and hang on every note. I also don’t notice when Sparrow gets out of her seat and makes her way to stand beside me, her head propped on her hand as her elbow leans against the top of the piano.
I’m vibrating with the energy and the mood of the music. Finally, I look to her to get a read on what she’s thinking or feeling. I don’t expect to see her eyes warm with what can only be described as pride. Her eyes are glassy too, as if I’ve struck a note that she needed to hear. She gives me a slow, beautiful smile, and I shift over on the piano bench. Without missing a beat, I motion with my head for her to sit beside me, and she does. A sweater is now draped loosely over her dress, the yellow peeking through the holes. It’s a glimpse of how she lives—her femininity shining through her attempts to hide. I’m undone at the sight of her. I shift the song I am playing into one that came to me after we danced in her bakery. It’s a song about whispers and things I wish we could be.
It’s sweet, and it’s slow, with pieces of us both mixed throughout. I’ve been trying not to touch her too much as I move my hands over the keys, but I don’t mind the few times our shoulders brush. I feel her gaze move from my hands to my face, and I turn to take her in. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes are slightly wide, and suddenly, her head is on my shoulder. I transition the song to one that’s a little less intense and compose the melody as I play. It’s the sound of the smell of her so close to me; it’s the feeling of her hand now resting low on my knee; it’s the unwavering truth that I’m completely in love with her. And I never want this dream to end.
Suddenly, I picture her in a cream dress with tiny polka dots, gold earrings hanging against her slender neck, her hair pulled up in a loose bun, and bracelets wrapped around her wrists. She leans against one of the stone walls on the Pont Neuf and watches the Seine rumbling beneath, a look of joy and wonder on her face. And all I want is to be there, with her, to see it.
It’s nearly nine o’clock before the three of us walk back to Sparrow’s apartment. Sparrow and I didn’t drink much, but I offered to walk them back to her place since Lily declared, two glasses of wine in, that they were going to have a sleepover. She’s asked me a few questions about my roommate, sometimes calling him George and not Graham , with a hint of amusement on her face. I’m not sure what that’s all about. But as we’re walking back the few blocks it takes to reach our destination, I take mental images of the hand-carved, lighted pumpkins on every porch. This town is completely invested in the holiday, from each decorated storefront to the Halloween tinsel that hangs from the lampposts. While the kids have all gone home, the sound of light music and people enjoying each other’s company filters through the air. Since it’s a small town, not many places are open at this time of night, but the homes look friendly and warm.
When we arrive at the door, Sparrow unlocks it for Lily and allows her to head upstairs first as she hands her the keys to the door at the top of the stairs. “This one,” Sparrow says firmly. Lily nods, her face slightly scrunched, and reaches into her pockets. A handful of Halloween candy appears in her palm.
“Lily, where on earth did you get those? Have they been in your pocket all night?” Sparrow laughs as Lily shakes her head.
“One of the superheroes gave them to me.” She throws the candy between us, giving me a wave before finding her way up the stairs. It’s not exactly graceful, but she’s managing better than I thought she would.
Sparrow turns her attention back to me, and I smile. We each choose a piece of the fun-sized candy, and I shove the rest into the pocket of Sparrow’s sweater. Opening the wrapper, I take a bite and realize, once again, how sweet the candy is here in America. I make a face and put the rest of it in my pocket, trying to will myself to remember it’s there before it melts further. Sparrow is finishing off her candy and licking a hint of chocolate off her mouth, weaving a web of desire over me.
She looks up at the stars above, her eyes taking on a peaceful look. I step beside her and look up too, amazed at how bright the earth’s shining memories above us seem to look on a clear fall night.
“You dressed as Seb tonight,” she says happily.
I smile at this and turn to face her. “I did.”
As our eyes meet, she shifts her sweater closer around her, and a dimple appears on her face. I hold my breath and watch it release into the air with a puff of white from its warmth. If she notices I’m nervous, she’s being kind by not pointing it out.
“Good choice.”
I nod and dare to reach down and take her hand. I shift my fingers slowly, one by one, through hers. Now, it’s her turn to inhale and hold her breath.
“Is someone watching?” She doesn’t move her eyes from mine, and we both know she’s asking this question strictly to see if I’m pretending.
“I’m sure they are,” I say with a grin and without confirming. My shoulder still feels the weight of her head from the tavern. I can’t hold in my curiosity anymore. I need to know what happened. Now that I’m holding her hand, I can’t and won’t do any more before I have the facts. “Sparrow, what happened with Jacques?”
She lifts her chin a bit and shifts her mouth to the side. “He ... I ... nothing,” she says with a defeated sigh.
My free hand clenches into a fist while the one holding hers softens. “Did he hurt you?”
She shakes her head.
“Reject you?”
Another shake of head.
“Sugar, you’re killing my heart here.”
Her feet inch a bit closer to mine, our breath now close enough to mingle between us. “You don’t need to find creative ways to get rid of him if that’s what you’re asking.”
I let out a little sigh of relief but keep my voice clear. “It is.”
“No, he just ... he wasn’t ...” she starts. You. That’s what I want her to say. And I suddenly wish I could read her as easily as I can read music. When she’s hiding, I can’t. I see her, but none of the notes make sense. And I have no idea what she’s trying to tell me right now.
“You should get inside,” I say as my voice cracks. “You don’t want to get cold.”
“I’m already cold,” she whispers.
Her sweater has shifted off her shoulder, and before I can think too much about what I’m doing, I release her hand to reach over and nestle it back around her, the texture of it branding my fingers.
Her chocolatey eyes peeking up at me are warming me through. I take a deep breath, my arms sliding down. I see her hand start to extend like we’re puzzle pieces, needing the other to feel whole. But instead of lacing my fingers through hers again, I pull my hand back, leaving some space between us.
“You’re ... disappointed?” I ask while hoping she isn’t. Again, she shakes her head. And before I realize what’s happening, Sparrow’s arms are wrapped around me. She tucks her ear close to my heart like it’s the thing she’s been wishing to do all night. Her hands grip my shirt. At first, I think it’s because she’s still cold. But then I realize she’s just fine, her frame warm against mine. I rest my cheek on the top of her head and hold her close.
I know her enough to know that she wouldn’t hold me like this if she really was interested in Jacques. I know she wouldn’t hold me like this if she didn’t want something more. And like a Magic Shell topping, sweetness cracks over my heart.
When it comes to her, all my words are still stuck—so easy in my mind and so difficult to get out. There are moments in life where, no matter how much I’ve worked through healing the hurt from the past, sometimes a haunting memory will bring me to my knees. And I’m frozen.
“Sparrow,” I finally whisper when five or twenty minutes have passed.
“Hmm?” She hums.
“You really see me?”
She stiffens slightly. A chill from a gust of wind rattles through my spine, the scent of her vanilla meeting the smoke that laces the air from a nearby fire.
“ Oui .” The word echoes through the still quiet night all around us. I grin as we grip each other a little tighter, the sweetest thing I could have ever hoped for wrapped around me.
It turns out, long after we left each other, I am up until three in the morning, trying to find the right notes and words because I have to be sure to somehow never forget that one of the most magical moments of my life was seeing Sparrow studying the stars and choosing to hug me under an autumn night sky.